Can you hear me?
by Mourningdawns
Summary: "But you can't hear them, not really. You're focusing on his voice.  His voice is the thing that's keeping you here."  2nd Person experiment. Someone's hurt and someone else is there.


"C'mon, c'mon, open your eyes." Hands touch your face and you want to see them, you really do. But…the world is so cold and dark right now. The hands are warm but it's not enough. You can't feel where your body ends and the cold concrete begins.

"Open your eyes. Can you hear me?" Of course you can. How could you not hear him, he's right next to you. But he might as well be a million miles away.

"C'mon. Just for a second. Open your eyes for just a second." It would be nice. But everything hurts, hurts in the way that you know that pain is being delayed by the cold, hurts in a way that all your nerves are screaming at you. But you can't hear them, not really. You're focusing on his voice.

His voice is the thing that's keeping you here. It's a life preserver thrown to you in this cold ocean.

"Open your eyes." You try, but you can't. You don't even remember what happened. A warehouse…a bust…the last thing you really remember is the look of fear of his face as he raised his gun, aiming somewhere behind you. Then there was a white-hot pain in the back of your head. He was too late. You were a half-step slow.

That's all it takes. A half-step. Right now you're a half-step away from a dark oblivion. The idea scares you. If you take that last half-step, you might never be able to come back. But it takes all your strength to stay where you are…

Suddenly your hands are touching something warm. He's holding them, rubbing them together.

"You're gonna be alright, I've got you." And you know he's right, because he always has your back. You find yourself remembering all the other times he's saved you. You owe him. But, it's not like you've been slacking. You contribute.

As you muse absentmindedly you find yourself on the edge of the oblivion, face to face with murky depths, depths were pain doesn't exist. But the voice can't exist there either.

And would you ever be able to find your way back from there without his voice?

"Open your eyes. I've got you, just let me know you can hear me." He pulls you away from the ledge. The oblivion is like a lake, you decide. A lake with a surprise drop-off hidden somewhere.

Before you were pulled back, you only had your feet in. But it's so much easier to keep going after that.

"The ambulance will be here soon. Open your eyes." Ambulance. Ambulances are loud, but you can't hear one. All you hear is him.

He squeezes your hands and the sensation jerks you closer to the surface, closer to consciousness. It's lighter here. You can hear the sirens in the background now. Other people, people you don't know, are talking somewhere else.

"Open your eyes." You try. You really do. But it doesn't happen. Your body and your brain don't want to work together, not even to make him happy.

He squeezes your hands again and you can tell how close the sirens are. You can tell that there's a jacket, probably his, laid over you. You can feel where your body meets the concrete now, you can tell the difference.

And suddenly, you can feel everything.

"Open your eyes." You do for a second, but you squeeze them shut again as light stabs through your head. The pain, sudden, unexpected, twists your stomach and you're rolled onto your side. Someone is rubbing your back as your body convulses, your throat burning and your body aching.

"There ya go, it's alright." You curl into yourself and wonder why you hadn't let yourself slip into oblivion when you had the chance. Everything hurts.

You can even feel the blood matting your hair, where whatever you got hit with broke the skin. Thinking about it makes you nauseous again.

"Can you squeeze my hand?" Again, his hands are in yours and you try. You must succeed a bit because he sounds happier. "Glad to have you with us."

You wish you could tell him you've been there all along, but another bout of heaves hits you. When you finally stop you notice the sirens are gone.

You get lifted onto a stretcher and there are hands all over you, but none of them are his. He's in the ambulance somewhere though. You can't open your eyes but you know he's there.

The ride seems short. When you get to the hospital there are even more people talking to you and asking you questions.

"Wiggle your toes."

"Squeeze my hand."

"Can you open your eyes?"

"Can you hear me?"

You puke.

Soon someone takes your arm in their hand.

"This will make you feel much better." There's a sting and soon you slip into the oblivion you tried so hard to stay away from. But this one is different, you think as you drift off. It's warmer, less scary.

When you finally leave the sweet respite of total unconsciousness, it's to a familiar sensation. A hand. It's his and he's holding your hand in his.

You wait to open your eyes, remembering the consequences last time. But now, everything is manageable. You're warm, tucked into a bed, the covers pulled over you. The pain isn't gone but it's not too bad. You can hear everything.

Slowly, you open your eyes.

The room is white, but it's dark, which is good because even this little amount of light hurts your eyes. He moves a little as you do and smiles when he sees your eyes. You smile a little too.

"Hey." He says, looking tired but happy.

"Hey." You reply. He hands you a cup of water, not letting go as you drink it.

"How're you feeling?"

"Head hurts." He nods and takes the cup.

"You've got a pretty bad concussion." You nod and close your eyes again. Being concussed really takes it out of a guy. You're tired.

He chuckles.

"Get some rest, Neal."


End file.
